My Highland Bride (Kingdoms of Meria Book 2)

by Cecelia Mecca

  “If I told you again ’twas not your fault your sister was killed, would you believe me?” he says, moving my hair to one side.

  “Nay,” I whisper.

  “Is there anything I can say that would comfort you?”

  I think on that for a moment. “Nay, I do not believe there is.”

  He pulls back, but I remain in his arms. “Then I will not try.”

  And without warning, his head lowers toward mine. Erik’s lips touch my own, so gently at first I can hardly feel it. Though it is pleasant.

  He pulls away and looks at me.

  I blink.

  “That was quite nice.” Still, I’m disappointed it wasn’t more like the kisses I’ve read about in books. My world hasn’t shaken, nor do my knees feel weak.

  “Nice. Have you not been kissed before, Reyne?”

  I raise my chin. “Aye, I have.”

  And then I admit, “That was my second.”

  “And your first kiss, was it like that one?”

  “Aye. ’Twas pleasant enough.”

  He has the same look as Warin did when he escorted me here. As if he knows something I do not. Except I know my brother’s secret and I do not know what Erik hides from me. His smile is as amused as it is suddenly playful.

  “Pleasant. Nice.”

  “Aye.”

  “Hmmm.”

  I have no time to interpret the sound before he lowers his head again. When his lips meet mine this time, his tongue is there as well, gliding along the folds of my mouth.

  “Open for me, Reyne.”

  I am unsure what he means. Fara’s books spoke of passion and desire, and even of kissing, but they make no mention of how it is done.

  I open my mouth to ask Erik for further instruction, but before I am able, his tongue glides inside and touches my own. At first the shock eclipses all other feelings, but then I start to wonder what, precisely, I should do. Fortunately, there is no need. Erik shows me.

  And when I touch my tongue fully to his, he groans.

  His mouth completely covers mine as he tilts his head to the side. Taking his lead, I kiss him back, until much later, breathless, Erik pulls away. I stare at his mouth and lips in wonder. So the books weren’t stuff and nonsense after all. How could he have aroused such feelings in me this quickly?

  “Your tongue,” I say, only then realizing how ridiculous that sounds. “I did not know.”

  “That, my dear Reyne, was your first kiss. The other was nothing more than a touching of our lips. A greeting.”

  I laugh. “I have greeted many people before, Erik, and can assure you, I do not do so with my lips.”

  He is so handsome when he smiles.

  “A proper kiss cannot be described with words such as nice. Or pleasant. A proper kiss makes you crave more.”

  “If that is so, then aye, that was my first kiss.” Because I most certainly do crave more.

  For a moment I think he will kiss me again. Instead, Erik releases me and runs his hand through his hair.

  “If we stay here, I will show you what else my tongue can do, dear Reyne. And that will not do.”

  In fact, I think it would do nicely. But I don’t say so aloud, because he still has not answered my question. Does he love another?

  Unwilling to ruin this moment, I choose not to ask again. But I will, soon.

  Mayhap after I learn what else, precisely, he can do with his tongue.

  16

  Erik

  “You can taste the bitterness, on the tip of your tongue,” I say to the men sitting around the fire. Each night Gille, Bradyn, and I have come here to the Moray tents. Reyne and I continue to dance around our mutual desire, our eyes meeting more than once.

  Mentioning my tongue in conversation has become a private jest between us these past three days. And although my attention should be fixed on Lord Rawlins and the threat he poses, I find this seduction of Reyne has captured too much of it.

  “Do they teach ya at the capital how to taste ale?” a man named John asks.

  I resist looking toward Reyne, whose father and brother are sitting with us, after all. Instead, I answer his question with a smile. Meant for her.

  “Nay,” I say, “I’ve learned on my own.”

  I do look at her then.

  “Ale is a special interest of mine.”

  She gives me a look as if to say, stop. Which I most certainly will not.

  “If brewed correctly, there is no better taste than . . . ale.”

  Enjoying jesting with her, I continue until she leaps up and walks away. Without reacting, I turn to Warin as the others continue discussing the merits of good ale.

  “Have you discovered anything?”

  Warin nods, standing. I follow him away from the fires as Gille walks up behind us.

  “My father was in the stands for the saber toss, and he managed to position himself close to Rawlins.”

  Gille and I exchange a look.

  “Did he say anything of import?”

  Warin frowns. “Perhaps. Do you know an Elderman by the name of Father Aiken?”

  I think back to the last time the Prima visited Breywood. The church’s leader was accompanied by a contingent of guards.

  “Aye,” I say, remembering. “He was with Father Silvester at the queen’s coronation, I believe.”

  “He was the one who never spoke,” Gille adds. “Do you remember we discussed the possibility of him being one of Silvester’s Shadow Warriors?”

  I can envision him standing at the side of the hall now. Never eating. Never speaking. And though Silvester has never identified his secret army or acknowledged that they in fact exist, all know of them. Throughout the years these highly skilled fighters, who take the same vows as the Eldermen, have made targeted attacks to help advance the Prima’s agenda. Some of the time, they enforce the church’s laws. Once, a minor border lord thought to encroach on land owned by the church, reasoning the only building on it, an old monastery, had not been used in years. But the Shadow Warriors either chased away or killed every man within its boundaries. There are other occasions when their might is used for reasons of political expediency.

  “What of this Father Aiken?” I ask. “And what is his connection to Rawlins’s meeting?”

  “Maybe none,” Warin admits. “But Rawlins mentioned him by name, which leads me to believe he may be here. Have you seen any of the Prima’s men at this tourney?”

  Gille frowns. “The church’s warriors do not participate in tournaments.”

  Increasingly, over the years, the church has distanced itself from such things. Father Silvester would preach about “excess” and “immodesty.” And though most on the Isle are believers, with the exception of the Voyagers of Murwood End, even the most loyal among them have begun to question the Prima’s increasingly stringent interpretation of the church’s teachings.

  “Precisely,” Warin agrees. “So why is he here, if indeed it is true?”

  We fall silent.

  Why indeed?

  He has not shown himself. Though hundreds attend this event, a hooded man would have been easy to spot, presuming he was not dressed in disguise. And if he had been in attendance, surely others would likely have remarked on it.

  “You believe the church is involved in whatever Rawlins has planned?” I ask the obvious question.

  “I think it possible,” Warin says.

  “We need to be at that meeting,” Gille says.

  “What will we do,” Warin asks, “if we discover its whereabouts? Surely we cannot simply stroll in and ask for seats?”

  “Surely not,” I agree. “But we’ve limited choices to make unless we at least learn where it is being held.” I clasp Warin’s shoulder. “Gille and I are glad to have an ally in this, at least.”

  Warin gives me a look, and though we’ve not discussed Reyne, who asked me not to reveal that I shared the truth with her, something passes between us.

  An understanding. An alliance, of sorts.

/>   “If I were my father, I’d speak to the men,” he says. “War with Meria will help no one.”

  “Nay, it will not.” I remove my hand. “Tell it to the nobles who believe ’twould be best to strike while Galfrid is weak.”

  Warin smiles. “’Tis your job, is it not?”

  Gille laughs. “Precisely why we are here. At least, precisely why I am here. I begin to wonder about this one.”

  My friend nudges my arm as both of my companions laugh, and I find myself glancing back at the fire to see if Reyne has returned.

  “Do you see?” Gille shakes his head. “Your sister has captivated him.”

  She has indeed.

  17

  Reyne

  How is it possible that just one day remains?

  In some ways, this has been the most pleasurable time of my life. Attending feasts and celebrations, cheering for Erik and my brother. Strolling through the market yesterday with my father, something I’d never done before in my life.

  As predicted, I’ve enjoyed pretending not to know of his design. I’ve made quite a show of feigning surprise whenever he allows me to be escorted by Erik, unattended. And though I should not revel in others’ discomfort, I remind myself that had Erik not told me at Havefest, I would be the only Moray here not privy to the queen’s commander’s true purpose here.

  Although we’ve been alone twice since that kiss, we’ve not repeated it. Though I am not aware of Erik’s reasons for holding back, my own are simple.

  I am falling for him, and if I kiss him again, my fate will be decided, or as good as. So I pine for him instead . . . and remain undecided. Erik is all that I knew him to be. Suited to me in every way save one.

  I still haven’t repeated my question about the queen.

  Tomorrow is the last day of the tourney, however, and I cannot delay any further. I will ask him again this very eve at the feast. If he refuses to answer, I will take it as an affirmative, and return home without the promise of marriage.

  “You are quiet, sister,” Warin says as we move into the great hall.

  “I’ve much to think on,” I admit. “As do you.”

  After days of attempting to learn the location of this secret meeting, Gille finally believes he's done so. When he spotted Rawlins among the tents, he followed him to the dovecote hidden in the woods on the edge of Ledenhill’s land.

  Though he remained there for more than two hours and saw no one else enter or exit, they have not found a better lead. Erik, Gille, and Warin all plan to sleep among the trees this eve, out of sight of the dovecote but close enough to see if, indeed, this was the location of the secret meeting.

  In some ways it feels as if I have already agreed to the match. Erik and my brother grow closer each day, and Father seems to have welcomed the son of his former friend into our camp and, perhaps, our lives.

  And I want to . . . more than I’ve let myself want anything for a long time. But first I must know.

  “You look beautiful this eve.”

  I did not see Erik coming, but the voice from behind me is easily recognizable.

  “Good eve, Erik,” I say, Warin, my father and his men moving ahead.

  Turning, I nearly gasp. “You look so . . . official.”

  His surcoat is not one I’ve seen on him before, not even at Havefest. It is emblazoned with the Tree of Loigh, the silver lining so bright it resembles real silver, which it very well may be. He has shaved, the beginnings of a beard now gone, Erik’s defined cheekbones on full display.

  He looks less like the queen’s commander than he does a king.

  “You do not approve?”

  In fact, he is as handsome as ever, but my thoughts remind me of why this union may not be. Feelings rage within me, a strange mix I cannot control, and I know I cannot wait until the evening is over to speak to him. The feast will not begin for hours.

  “I approve,” I say cautiously. “But I would speak to you. Alone.”

  His eyes bore into mine. “Your tone is troubling,” he says.

  Something has been troubling me for nigh a sennight, and he’s standing just before me. “Do you think there is a place we might speak?”

  Erik is not the only one dressed in his finest. I’ve saved this gown for this eve’s celebration, and from the way Erik is eyeing the low neckline, he approves.

  I clear my throat.

  “Apologies,” he says, turning. “Though not really,” I think I hear him mumble.

  Smiling, I follow him from the hall and down the stairs, realizing we are headed back into the courtyard.

  “Where are we going?”

  Just as I ask, Erik offers his arm, and I realize I know precisely where he is bringing me. Indeed, in no time, after leaving the main keep, we pass the small courtyard where Havefest was held and walk up the cobblestone path.

  “No cushions this eve,” he says as we reach the alcove. “But ample light . . .” He tilts his head up, as do I, to see the torch just above us. “. . . so that I may enjoy the beautiful sight before me.”

  Licking my lips, which have suddenly gone dry, I sit and attempt to avoid gawking at him. Sitting across from me, he leans over and takes my hands.

  “What is wrong, Reyne?”

  How can he not already know?

  “Tomorrow is the last day,” I say. “And then you will leave for the capital, and I for home.”

  He does not react. “And that is how you would have it? That we part on the morrow?”

  Just like that other night in this very same spot, I wish that he would kiss me. That we could avoid this discussion that might tear us apart forever. There is so much more to explore with him, the passion he promised just within reach.

  Father approves.

  Warin approves.

  Mother would gladly take Erik Stokerton as a son-in-law.

  “I do not know,” I say honestly. “All want this match but . . .”

  “But you?”

  He looks angry. And maybe that is a good thing. He clearly wishes to marry me. But is it only for my father’s support? How can he not understand the reason matters? And more importantly, she matters.

  “I asked you once if you loved the queen, and you did not answer me. Yet you wish for us to announce our betrothal tomorrow. So I ask you again, do you love her?”

  His expression reveals nothing. “Marry.”

  I clasp my hands together and squeeze. “Pardon?”

  “I wish for us to marry, not become betrothed. Your father made it clear I’d not have his support until we were married.”

  My jaw drops.

  “Here? At Ledenhill? Without my mother present? With no gown or feast or . . . marry here?” I repeat.

  Erik frowns. “I know it is not the wedding ceremony you would have. Nor is it the one you deserve. But vows to join as man and wife, with proper witnesses, are all that is necessary. As you know.”

  Wed. Tomorrow?

  “Even if we learn nothing from the dovecote, I must get back to the capital. Cettina needs to know about it.”

  Cettina. It serves as a reminder, not that I needed it, that he has not yet answered me.

  “I can do without a grand ceremony,” I respond. “Or even my mother as witness, if such is necessary. But I cannot do without an answer to the question I’ve asked twice now. Do you love her?”

  Erik’s jaw clenches. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

  I know the answer before he gives it.

  “Aye.”

  18

  Erik

  I should have given a more nuanced answer, but I refuse to lie to Reyne again.

  “I did not answer you before because the answer is not so simple as it seems.”

  I’ve hurt her and am sorry for it.

  “It is not difficult to be captivated by Cettina,” I begin, knowing this does not help my cause. “As her personal guard, I got to know her well. I knew from the start she was different from King Malcom. Though her mother died before I came to court
, most say Cettina is very much like her.”

  I hate the pain in Reyne’s eyes, so I rush to finish my story.

  “It was only after the affair, when Isolda left Breywood, when I was at my lowest, that I came to understand what a remarkable woman she is. Cettina stood up to her father in front of the Curia, even though she was not then allowed to attend those meetings. She barged into the room and demanded her sister be allowed to present her case to the group before the sentence was carried out. And when her father refused, Cettina began to appeal one by one to the Curia on her own, risking her father’s wrath.”

  Reyne’s only reaction is to wring her hands on her lap.

  “After Lord Bowes was beheaded, and Lady Hilla and Lord Whitley, her husband, were banished from court, Cettina began to campaign almost immediately for their return. When her father became sick, and she was thrust into the role of queen, she appointed me as second commander. And she has been fighting for Edingham ever since.” I pause, taking in the way Reyne sits there, so still and stiff. “Do I love her? A woman who elevated a man whom she could have banished from court for his role in the affair? Who refuses to allow even the most powerful men in the kingdom to sway her beliefs? I do, Reyne. But not in the way you think.”

  I wait for her to respond.

  “So you love her . . . as you would a sister?” she says haltingly.

  I should say aye, but I want her to make this decision knowing all. “I’ve not had a sister, so I do not know how to answer that.”

  “As a friend, then?”

  I shrug helplessly. Again, it is hard to answer the question. Cettina is so different from any other friend I’ve had.

  “Have you kissed her?”

  “Aye.”

  “It was but once, and we knew immediately ’twas a mistake. It was the night after the coronation, which she never expected to happen. That crown weighs as heavy on her head now as it did that eve, but she is learning to bear it.”

  “You have not made love to her?”

  “Nay.”